Post by mystifyingoracle on Aug 6, 2020 15:31:32 GMT -5
OOC: Collaboration done between Matt Knox's handler and me! Recommended reading to set this piece up can be found here! Thanks for the collab, dude!
Silvio had a habit of making the same facial expression of whatever he happened to be drawing at any given time. He was told that it had something to do with special brain cells called, ‘mirror neurons.’ Very sophisticated neuroscience, he was assured. It didn’t change the fact that he was seated at his counter with a furrowed brow, lower teeth jutted forward to bite at his upper lip as he sketched out the curving tusks of an oni, when the bell on the door rang to announce the entrance of a new customer.
Matt Knox’s frame briefly filled the doorway. He was dressed in another old band shirt, Black Sabbath this time and a pair of sweatpants. He had made the mistake once of getting work done in jeans. That was the day he learned he was a creature of comfort, at least a little. He scanned the parlor, taking in the art before calling out. “You open?”
Looking up from his work in progress, the Oracle’s eyes widened briefly before he got to his feet. “Yeah! Hey, Matt.”
It was a little odd seeing the veteran outside of what Silvio considered his, ‘natural habitat.’
Behold, the wild Raven as he suplexes his prey. Let us tag him and return next Spring.
Raising a brow, he offered a smile. “You here for tattoos or to talk about WAR?”
“Column A, Column B,” he answered. “Figured maybe some ink would help shut my mind up. Quiet…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Figured I let you stab me with a needle, and we try to clear the air. No matter how much Insidious pisses us both off, no teams ever work out when there’s tension within.”
He nodded his head, satisfied with his own answer. “So. What do you recommend? Most anything will show up. Look at me, I’m practically paper.” He attempted the joke, holding up the backs of his hand to show off his near translucent skin.
Silvio listened, though he felt a twinge of curiosity at Knox’s second-long reverie. Grinning as Knox emphasized his pallor, he opened a gate separating the parlor’s work and waiting areas. “Come in and have a seat.” Indicating a second chair behind the counter, he gave a thoughtful hum. “I got some art books we could look through, but…”
His eyes drifted to an art pad atop a small bookshelf crammed with art books and supplies.
“...I actually have something I was working on when I was doing preparation for our match. I dunno if you’d want it tattooed on you, but you should have the art, at least.”
“Let’s see it,” he answered. He pulled his shirt off. “Anywhere on the back. But no tramp stamps,” he joked, staring around the work area. “You run a clean shop. Much as I miss Monterey, the hipsters out there take the ‘grungy’ look too far. Take most of their art off Google, too.” He trailed off again, before turning to Silvio and paying him a half smile. “Sorry I’m rambling. Think it’s the whole...self isolation bullshit. Anyway. Art, let’s see it.”
He took a seat in the previously offered chair, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He had small pieces scattered across his skin - “Hope,” in cursive over his heart, “ivy,” on the opposite side of his chest, “Knox,” on his left bicep.
“No tramp stamps,” Silvio assured him, grinning as he went to retrieve the art pad. “And thank you. I like people knowing they’re in good hands. This should feel like a clinic or a doctor’s office; not some hole in the wall.” Returning to Matt, he sat down and flipped through a few pages. The paper was thick, and instead of white, it was a tan that seemed to help the colored pencil work stand out. Stopping, he gave one page a little tug to tear it free and laid it out on the counter before Matt. “I like making art in preparation for my matches. Helps me focus.”
The page showed Raven done in a style with clear Haida and Tlingit influences; the figure in profile broken up by eyes, joints, mouths, and bold, sweeping lines. Instead of the traditional red, white, yellow, blue, and black, however, it is rendered entirely in black and shades of grey. The only other color was in the bird’s eye. It was like Matt’s - a color neither blue, nor grey, nor green.
“You have glasz-colored eyes, y’know. That’s rare.”
Matthew stared at the Raven on the paper. He shifted his glance to Silvio as he spoke, before reaching out and tapping the picture dead on the eye. “Most people watch tape, you know.” He stood then. “Lead the way, let's get to work. No detail left out, if you’re up to the task.” He tensed for a moment as he stepped aside to let Silvio get set.
“I’m sorry, coming off crass as I did back there. Outside the arena. I’d like to blame Thor, but I’m kind of a prick by nature if I’m being honest with you..with myself.” His eyes went back to the walls then, away from the conversation and his admittance of any flaw. The air in the room was more than sterile. He felt that familiar chill on the back of his neck, but did his best to ignore it.
“It’s alright. I think a lot of us are on edge lately with this whole Insidious thing. I know it’s more personal for you - Thor and his connections with your family. I’d probably be a touch sensitive about it if I was in your position. And as for being a prick by nature? Sure, there are people who are just jerks at their core, but a lot of folks I’ve met with that kind of temperament have a reason. Sometimes you need to do that to keep something in you safe. I’m not going to be angry at someone for trying to defend a piece of themselves that they feel needs defending. Whatever your reasons, I don’t think you’re a bad person for it.”
Lapsing back into professional mode, Silvio said, “I’ll need to get the transfer ready real quick. Fill out this form while I’m doing that, if you don’t mind. Standard stuff - last time you ate, any blood borne illnesses I should know about, that kinda thing. I just gotta have this on file.”
Taking the art in one hand, he picked up the necessary paperwork, setting it down in front of Knox and nodding to a little mug with a variety of pens set next to a fish bowl filled with an assortment of hard candies.
“Did you sleep okay last night?”
Matt’s little moments of wistfulness weren’t something Silvio had seen from the veteran before. He’d mentioned wanting to, ‘shut his mind up.’ What exactly, the artist wondered, was Knox's mind saying to distract him like this?
Knox took his seat once more, accepting the forms and plucking a pen from the cup. As he filled out all the paperwork, he shook his head in response to Silvio. “I never really do. Might be from all the…” he considered his words briefly. “Wreckage. Self inflicted and otherwise. But no, I didn’t sleep all that well.” He let out a soft chuckle, flipping to the next page. “Pretty awful when the drink and bud can’t put you down.”
He flipped through the paperwork and with the deftness of a sledgehammer, tried to segue to another topic. “You’d think I was borrowing money, all these forms,” he commented as he finished, setting the stack down in front of him. He held onto the pen though, and tapped on the paper as the chill bit into him all the harder.
“How did you know...or was it really the cards? About the woman that wasn’t Astryd. My..uh.. My ex wife. Kid’s mom,” he blurted out, suddenly. “The rest of it, I could chalk up to theatre but that uh….that hit too close to home, if i’m honest.”
Silvio glanced up from his work of preparing the transfer sheet, raising a brow and giving a helpless shrug. “The cards tell me what they tell me. I don’t really have control over it. I just think of who I’m facing, choose the set and read it the best I can. Honestly, I never know how true it’s going to be.”
Exhaling, his brows knit.
“If it gets into my opponent’s head? Well, that’s what it’s meant to do - just like any other promo work.”
He looked at Knox, his expression softening.
“That card, The Lovers? The position it was in for that reading indicated it was something you feared; something haunting you.” His lips pressed into a line as he took the ready transfer sheet. “I didn’t know anything about you other than what you’d made public. I, uh...honestly, that match was the most difficult for me so far. Not just physically - you rocked my shit dude - but mentally; emotionally. It was also pretty cathartic.”
“Felt personal,” Matthew commented, glancing up from his feet. “I won’t dig any more into it. Hell, I expect more of it really. Get some younger guys, like you, put them out there with a guy who bailed on his kids...they’re gonna hit a little harder.”
He let out a quiet exhalation, returning his gaze to the floor. “It’s my bed. I made it...Hell, I put mints on the pillows. Just one more thing, right? Hell. We all got demons. Otherwise, we’d put our articulate asses into a field that requires less violence and doesn’t shave back our life expectancy.”
Matthew stood then, turning to Silvio. He has a finger raised, but his gaze seemed miles away. “You. You don’t make a lot of sense to me, if I'm being honest, kid. All this talent, artistic and all. Why do you want to risk your neck in that ring with people like me...people worse than me? I’ll never understand, even if you drew me a picture.” He motioned to the walls then, “Which, obviously you could.”
For a long moment, Silvio just stared at the Raven, seeming to be considering something. Shrugging and smiling, he took a deep breath. “When I was nineteen, I was living pretty rough. No family to support me, just the income from the tattooing and some odd jobs wherever I could pick them up. To make ends meet, I would sometimes do a little of the ‘ol B&E.” He strode over to his work station, drawing on a pair of nitrile gloves. “One day, I happened to break into the wrong house and ended up as a ritual sacrifice to a cult of suburbanites with a raging case of Durden Syndrome. You know,” he said, clearing his throat and affecting his best Brad Pitt. “We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.”
He spared a glance at the paperwork Matt had filled out before nodding in satisfaction.
“Bunch of entitled jerk-offs who feel like the world owes them something just for being part of a certain social demographic. So, they take my queer, brown ass and try to sacrifice me to some cosmic horror god or whatever in an attempt to end the world as we know it because they’re cranky about losing at life. If I can’t win, I’m gonna flip the game board so nobody wins, right?” Opening a drawer he started to take out some tiny, disposable plastic vessels for the ink he was going to use. “Anyway, they fuck it up. Spoiler - the world doesn’t end. But I wind up with the chaos entity dialed into my brain or fused to me somehow - I don’t know the specifics. Long story short, I have what is essentially a Robert Chambers inspired nightmare god hooked up to my nervous system. And what do gods want?” Taking out a few bottles of ink, he began to pour portions of their content into the little vessels. “Worship. In this case, the more chaotic, insane, and spectacular the worship is, the better. Hence, professional wrestling.”
Preparing some paper towels, water, and vaseline, he let out a little laugh.
“If I don’t give it what it wants, my life gets weird; synesthesia, nightmares, hallucinations, that kind of stuff. It’s really unpleasant, and I don’t want to see how bad it can get. So that is why I started doing what I’m doing.”
He took out his tattoo machine, checking the settings before looking at Matt again.
“Although I have to say, since getting started here, I’ve enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. It...really gets into you; becomes a part of you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as alive as I do right now working at Carnage.”
Matt stared at Silvio evenly. His brow slowly arched up, and he let out a soft chuckle, raising his hands up. “Look, man, much as I appreciate creative writing, you could have just told me you didn’t want to get into it.” He shook his head, lowering one hand and pointing with the other. “Tell you what, though. You ever get into a pinch and want to throw the theatrics into overdrive, do that.”
He considered a moment, and smirked before adding, “Might make Mickey jealous though. Chaos gods and Clowns. Doesn’t seem like they’d get along. Oh, and, definitely. Wear a mask. In case the acting sucks, you can go back to being the slippery, charismatic kid with the cards.”
Knox’s body language relaxed as he peered around the room. “Alright. Where do you want your easel, Picasso? Or do we need to consult the Chaos Gods, first? Is it multiple or...one? Never really see Monotheism when it comes to cults. Always different hoods for different gods...”
Matthew considered him silently as he spoke. The kid didn’t flinch or falter once in that story. Maybe with a couple tabs, he’d believe it. Or was Silvio already a couple tabs in? After a moment, he shoved the thought away. Rather not imagine the tattoo artist was on a trip right now, not when he felt so confident in the kid’s skills.
He motioned for Matt to lay down on the chair.
“I think the shoulder blade will be the best placement for this. The curve of your back and shoulder there should frame the art well. I’ll do the transfer, have you double check the positioning, and if it’s all good, we’ll get started. You’ve had tattoos before - anything I should keep in mind while I’m working on you? I figure if this is something you’re using to clear your mind, you handle the discomfort pretty well.”
Matt laid face down on the chair, resting his forehead onto his forearms. He rolled his shoulders once, producing an audible pop before answering Silvio. “Put it where you think it looks good. I’m not too concerned.” He waited a beat before adding. “And you know damn well I’m fine with discomfort. Hell, we both are.”
Another beat, he shook his head before speaking. “No, nothing to keep in mind. This is the biggest piece I've gotten though so, get yourself a drink. We’re gonna be here a while,” he quipped, before closing his eyes and going silent for the rest of Silvio’s prep
“Alright, let’s get started.”
Silvio used the sheet and a damp paper towel to transfer the art onto Matt’s skin.
“You gotta use SPF 1000, man?” he asked with a little laugh. “You were not kidding about your tragic lack of melanin.” Loading the tattoo machine with ink, he said, “Okay, here we go.”
Then there was the buzz. No matter how often he heard it - either being the artist or the canvas - the sound of a tattoo machine put him into a flow state. Muscles relaxing and eyes focusing, he lowered the machine and began the line work.
“When I first started getting my tattoos done,” he murmured, “I thought I could manage the pain by being stronger than it was. Just be determined not to let myself feel it; clench up my muscles like I could decide what I was experiencing.” He snorted. “It didn’t really work; trying to hold it, deny it, or out-muscle it.” Sitting back for a moment to load up more ink and swipe some vaseline over his progress, he said, “Instead, what I found worked better was to just let it flow through me. Acknowledge it, let it have its moment, and move on. It puts you in a weirdly meditative state after a while.”
After a few beats of silence, Knox responded. “I just bottle it up and get through it. Lock it up with the ghosts, I guess.” He paused, letting out a slow exhale as he set about burying the pain. “It’s like getting in the zone for a fight. You become something else, something more. And then assess the damage after...your own, anyway. The second you start becoming concerned about how your opponent feels after a fight, you’ve lost the rest of them.”
He chuckled at himself. “God, every time I open my mouth around you, Levi, Kohaku...most anyone but Willis, and Thor, I feel dated. It’s odd, man. Last time I was doing this, I was in your position. Young, shiny and new. Now I'm what I am. And It feels like it happened over night. Like I...slept through a big part of my life.”
He twitched slightly as the needle breaks through his thought, and his grit. “You shouldn’t make a habit of it, getting involved because you don’t like what you see. It’s noble, and it builds Karma but stuff like this, in this business? People get dark, kid. It’s all visceral, ugly, and cruel after a certain point. And before you know it, you’re in a spot you never asked to be in”
Knox said he’d wanted to quiet his mind, and he still seemed distracted; some part of him elsewhere. Insidious and the way they were tangled up with the veteran’s life could definitely explain part of it, but Silvio wondered if there was something more to it. The Raven brought up the reading for his match; specifically the bit about the Lovers. He’d only seen snippets of Matt’s life in the form of research, matches, and whatever aired on Carnage, but this was a man who collected his ghosts. Maybe he needed an exorcism.
“Nobody expects to be where they end up,” Silvio replied, giving Matt a moment to get over the twinge before continuing. “I definitely didn’t. And I’m not going to say you’re wrong. You’ve probably forgotten more about this business than I’ll ever know. I’ve seen dark, cruel, ugly, and visceral; been on the receiving end of it all more times than I’d like to admit. But every time I have, it wasn’t the abuse from the people who inflicted it that hurt the most. It was the people who were supposed to have my back being quiet while it happened. Maybe stepping in like this will get me in trouble one day. Hell, it almost definitely will. But even if it does, I’d rather nurse my wounds alongside the people I spoke up for than leave them to face that cruelty alone.”
“You have to be careful, as with all things, Silvio.” Matthew’s voice took on an almost parental note as he spoke those words, but returned to the million mile away sleepy, velvet tone most had become accustomed to. “Some people, damaged people. Like me, and I’m guessing you...that wreckage is like a disease. It spreads. Blinds you.”
After a beat, he continued despite himself. “Back in ‘08, I met this woman. My first match with the FWF. Fantasy Wrestling Federation. Started out as a workplace crush. Then, it got bizarre. She’d attack me at any given opportunity. Then be in my locker room to simply talk. Made my blood hot and cold at the same time. Before I knew it, I was in love. And she was too, but it was...it wasn’t good.” He paused a beat, scrunching his face not from the needle but from the chill on the back of his neck.
“She started showing up at my home between shows. Uninvited. In my hotel rooms. She’d attack me if I didn’t notice her, and most of the times we kissed she’d try and rip my lip off biting me...but it just fanned that flame.” He snickered through the chill. “Says more about me than anything, I guess. It was fucked up, but it...it worked. And then…” He trailed off, the cold spreading to his eyeballs, his whole face feeling icy and detached. A droning sound filled his ears over the buzz of the needle
“Then it ended, she left the company and fell off the face of the earth,” he tacked on, exhaling as the chill left him and he relaxed once more.
Silvio continued his work silently as Matt told his story, feeling a chill prickle down his spine like a rivulet of icy water. “Jesus,” he breathed when Knox was done. He couldn’t help but think of Adrienne and Danny. Unbidden, his thoughts touched on Kohaku; leaning against his apartment’s floor to ceiling windows together and letting the night rise up around them. He shook his head to clear it, brow knit. “That sounds...harrowing, Matt. Jeez, no wonder that card…”
Exhaling at length, he switched the ink up to the mix he’d made for the Raven tattoo’s eye.
“The damage...well, it’s damage. Not gonna lecture anyone about what to do with it, but...all I know is that I don't want anyone to go through what I did; not alone.”
Filling in the circle of the Raven’s eye, he hummed thoughtfully.
“I like how this is turning out. You ever think of getting a collection of Raven tattoos? You’re obviously a Poe-style bird, but Raven has different meanings depending on where you are in the world. The Raven I grew up with...this one I’m doing right now...he’s not some harbinger of darkness. Actually, just the opposite.”
Looking the lines over, he began touching up a few of the edges.
“In the stories I listened to as a kid, Raven was a trickster who used his wits to free the sun from the Sky People and gave it to humanity so they could live in the light.”
“Doesn’t exactly lend itself to getting under an opponent’s skin,” Knox commented, pushing through the fog that always followed Charlotte. God, was that her perfume? “But I guess, if I was going to get deep with it, it’s nice knowing that I didn’t put myself in a box. Don’t always have to try and scare everyone.” He trailed off
“Just don’t tell Insidious. If they ask, the Raven you grew up learning about stole the sun and kicked its ass or something to that effect. Daft, shallow prick would probably believe it and go research some blood god that fed on Ravens and add it to his long list of nicknames. Thor, I mean.” Another beat. He let out a sigh, and began unburdening himself. The young man gave off a safe vibe. He didn’t want to trust it, but he did.
“It’s not that I didn’t feel anything for his daughter, you know? But it was a rebound. Or should have been. But I got comfortable in the part. I’m a good liar, much as I hate to be. Managed to lie to myself. Ivy was planned, but...I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, searching the inside of his eyelids for the right words. “I love that little girl, but there came a point where I knew that the damage - my damage - it was just going to ruin her. Her and Hope.”
He opened his eyes, expecting the tattoo gun to be driven into his skull at any moment. “I was probably wrong. Because now they’re in a youth wrestling league, set up by Thor. Brainwashed into thinking it’s right and normal. And I can’t change that, and I got no right to. I love them, and I want nothing more anymore than to be their father. But I’m very sure I fucked that up.” A brief pause. “It’s why I want to end Thor. I shouldn’t need to talk about this, it should have been a conversation between Astryd and I. But they made it public. And now i’m on a tattoo table, trying to convince my partner in a fight with his goons that I’m not a total piece of shit.”
He chuckled bemusedly. “Not doing a great job either. I wouldn’t buy my bullshit, cookie cutter as it sounds...”
“I dunno. I think there’s something pretty bad ass about telling someone they’re not allowed to keep other people from living in the light anymore,” Silvio said with a grin. “Seeing as Thor’s trying to bring out everyone’s, ‘dark side,’ a shot of sunlight might be just what the doctor ordered.”
As Matt described the situation with his family and Thor, Silvio felt a bitter jag in his heart and a twist in his stomach.
“...You’re trying. You’re putting the effort in. I can’t be angry with you for that. You want better for your kids. That’s more than what I got from my dad. If this is you trying? If this is you doing your best for them as their father? Why wouldn’t I want to help you with that? Like I said - I don’t want other people to go through what I went through. If I can help two kids have a better relationship with their dad, deal with some cultist bullies at the same time, and get paid for it? Shit, man - that sounds like Christmas in August to me.”
“We should all be so lucky to have your outlook, Silvio,” he said sincerely, before adding, “It’s all any parent can do, I think. Try and want better than they got. I mean, hell...my kids, me, we’re both rotten. I got adopted by someone that made money - real money - in this business. They got raised by a multinational corporate cult.” He chuckled lightly, trying not to move too much
“But money isn’t shit, really. Tired as that sounds. I just...I dunno. I just want them happy. Real happiness. Not a happiness they need to be sold...but enough about that. It'll just be another side effect of what we start at the pay-per-view..." he sighed, content.
"Thanks again, kid"
“Any time, Knox.”
He sat back, examined his work and gave a nod. “Alright, we’re done here.” A few quick swipes with a damp paper towel cleaned the area before Silvio held up a mirror for Matt to examine his new art. Raven on a pale shoulder, perched in profile, wings lifted slightly from his back as if about to take to the sky or swoop down to trouble the world for his amusement; a trickster in shades of black and grey with eyes the color of a storm-swept sea.
Dark wings, sharp wits, and bright tidings.
“Insidious isn’t going to know what hit them.”
Silvio had a habit of making the same facial expression of whatever he happened to be drawing at any given time. He was told that it had something to do with special brain cells called, ‘mirror neurons.’ Very sophisticated neuroscience, he was assured. It didn’t change the fact that he was seated at his counter with a furrowed brow, lower teeth jutted forward to bite at his upper lip as he sketched out the curving tusks of an oni, when the bell on the door rang to announce the entrance of a new customer.
Matt Knox’s frame briefly filled the doorway. He was dressed in another old band shirt, Black Sabbath this time and a pair of sweatpants. He had made the mistake once of getting work done in jeans. That was the day he learned he was a creature of comfort, at least a little. He scanned the parlor, taking in the art before calling out. “You open?”
Looking up from his work in progress, the Oracle’s eyes widened briefly before he got to his feet. “Yeah! Hey, Matt.”
It was a little odd seeing the veteran outside of what Silvio considered his, ‘natural habitat.’
Behold, the wild Raven as he suplexes his prey. Let us tag him and return next Spring.
Raising a brow, he offered a smile. “You here for tattoos or to talk about WAR?”
“Column A, Column B,” he answered. “Figured maybe some ink would help shut my mind up. Quiet…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Figured I let you stab me with a needle, and we try to clear the air. No matter how much Insidious pisses us both off, no teams ever work out when there’s tension within.”
He nodded his head, satisfied with his own answer. “So. What do you recommend? Most anything will show up. Look at me, I’m practically paper.” He attempted the joke, holding up the backs of his hand to show off his near translucent skin.
Silvio listened, though he felt a twinge of curiosity at Knox’s second-long reverie. Grinning as Knox emphasized his pallor, he opened a gate separating the parlor’s work and waiting areas. “Come in and have a seat.” Indicating a second chair behind the counter, he gave a thoughtful hum. “I got some art books we could look through, but…”
His eyes drifted to an art pad atop a small bookshelf crammed with art books and supplies.
“...I actually have something I was working on when I was doing preparation for our match. I dunno if you’d want it tattooed on you, but you should have the art, at least.”
“Let’s see it,” he answered. He pulled his shirt off. “Anywhere on the back. But no tramp stamps,” he joked, staring around the work area. “You run a clean shop. Much as I miss Monterey, the hipsters out there take the ‘grungy’ look too far. Take most of their art off Google, too.” He trailed off again, before turning to Silvio and paying him a half smile. “Sorry I’m rambling. Think it’s the whole...self isolation bullshit. Anyway. Art, let’s see it.”
He took a seat in the previously offered chair, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He had small pieces scattered across his skin - “Hope,” in cursive over his heart, “ivy,” on the opposite side of his chest, “Knox,” on his left bicep.
“No tramp stamps,” Silvio assured him, grinning as he went to retrieve the art pad. “And thank you. I like people knowing they’re in good hands. This should feel like a clinic or a doctor’s office; not some hole in the wall.” Returning to Matt, he sat down and flipped through a few pages. The paper was thick, and instead of white, it was a tan that seemed to help the colored pencil work stand out. Stopping, he gave one page a little tug to tear it free and laid it out on the counter before Matt. “I like making art in preparation for my matches. Helps me focus.”
The page showed Raven done in a style with clear Haida and Tlingit influences; the figure in profile broken up by eyes, joints, mouths, and bold, sweeping lines. Instead of the traditional red, white, yellow, blue, and black, however, it is rendered entirely in black and shades of grey. The only other color was in the bird’s eye. It was like Matt’s - a color neither blue, nor grey, nor green.
“You have glasz-colored eyes, y’know. That’s rare.”
Matthew stared at the Raven on the paper. He shifted his glance to Silvio as he spoke, before reaching out and tapping the picture dead on the eye. “Most people watch tape, you know.” He stood then. “Lead the way, let's get to work. No detail left out, if you’re up to the task.” He tensed for a moment as he stepped aside to let Silvio get set.
“I’m sorry, coming off crass as I did back there. Outside the arena. I’d like to blame Thor, but I’m kind of a prick by nature if I’m being honest with you..with myself.” His eyes went back to the walls then, away from the conversation and his admittance of any flaw. The air in the room was more than sterile. He felt that familiar chill on the back of his neck, but did his best to ignore it.
“It’s alright. I think a lot of us are on edge lately with this whole Insidious thing. I know it’s more personal for you - Thor and his connections with your family. I’d probably be a touch sensitive about it if I was in your position. And as for being a prick by nature? Sure, there are people who are just jerks at their core, but a lot of folks I’ve met with that kind of temperament have a reason. Sometimes you need to do that to keep something in you safe. I’m not going to be angry at someone for trying to defend a piece of themselves that they feel needs defending. Whatever your reasons, I don’t think you’re a bad person for it.”
Lapsing back into professional mode, Silvio said, “I’ll need to get the transfer ready real quick. Fill out this form while I’m doing that, if you don’t mind. Standard stuff - last time you ate, any blood borne illnesses I should know about, that kinda thing. I just gotta have this on file.”
Taking the art in one hand, he picked up the necessary paperwork, setting it down in front of Knox and nodding to a little mug with a variety of pens set next to a fish bowl filled with an assortment of hard candies.
“Did you sleep okay last night?”
Matt’s little moments of wistfulness weren’t something Silvio had seen from the veteran before. He’d mentioned wanting to, ‘shut his mind up.’ What exactly, the artist wondered, was Knox's mind saying to distract him like this?
Knox took his seat once more, accepting the forms and plucking a pen from the cup. As he filled out all the paperwork, he shook his head in response to Silvio. “I never really do. Might be from all the…” he considered his words briefly. “Wreckage. Self inflicted and otherwise. But no, I didn’t sleep all that well.” He let out a soft chuckle, flipping to the next page. “Pretty awful when the drink and bud can’t put you down.”
He flipped through the paperwork and with the deftness of a sledgehammer, tried to segue to another topic. “You’d think I was borrowing money, all these forms,” he commented as he finished, setting the stack down in front of him. He held onto the pen though, and tapped on the paper as the chill bit into him all the harder.
“How did you know...or was it really the cards? About the woman that wasn’t Astryd. My..uh.. My ex wife. Kid’s mom,” he blurted out, suddenly. “The rest of it, I could chalk up to theatre but that uh….that hit too close to home, if i’m honest.”
Silvio glanced up from his work of preparing the transfer sheet, raising a brow and giving a helpless shrug. “The cards tell me what they tell me. I don’t really have control over it. I just think of who I’m facing, choose the set and read it the best I can. Honestly, I never know how true it’s going to be.”
Exhaling, his brows knit.
“If it gets into my opponent’s head? Well, that’s what it’s meant to do - just like any other promo work.”
He looked at Knox, his expression softening.
“That card, The Lovers? The position it was in for that reading indicated it was something you feared; something haunting you.” His lips pressed into a line as he took the ready transfer sheet. “I didn’t know anything about you other than what you’d made public. I, uh...honestly, that match was the most difficult for me so far. Not just physically - you rocked my shit dude - but mentally; emotionally. It was also pretty cathartic.”
“Felt personal,” Matthew commented, glancing up from his feet. “I won’t dig any more into it. Hell, I expect more of it really. Get some younger guys, like you, put them out there with a guy who bailed on his kids...they’re gonna hit a little harder.”
He let out a quiet exhalation, returning his gaze to the floor. “It’s my bed. I made it...Hell, I put mints on the pillows. Just one more thing, right? Hell. We all got demons. Otherwise, we’d put our articulate asses into a field that requires less violence and doesn’t shave back our life expectancy.”
Matthew stood then, turning to Silvio. He has a finger raised, but his gaze seemed miles away. “You. You don’t make a lot of sense to me, if I'm being honest, kid. All this talent, artistic and all. Why do you want to risk your neck in that ring with people like me...people worse than me? I’ll never understand, even if you drew me a picture.” He motioned to the walls then, “Which, obviously you could.”
For a long moment, Silvio just stared at the Raven, seeming to be considering something. Shrugging and smiling, he took a deep breath. “When I was nineteen, I was living pretty rough. No family to support me, just the income from the tattooing and some odd jobs wherever I could pick them up. To make ends meet, I would sometimes do a little of the ‘ol B&E.” He strode over to his work station, drawing on a pair of nitrile gloves. “One day, I happened to break into the wrong house and ended up as a ritual sacrifice to a cult of suburbanites with a raging case of Durden Syndrome. You know,” he said, clearing his throat and affecting his best Brad Pitt. “We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.”
He spared a glance at the paperwork Matt had filled out before nodding in satisfaction.
“Bunch of entitled jerk-offs who feel like the world owes them something just for being part of a certain social demographic. So, they take my queer, brown ass and try to sacrifice me to some cosmic horror god or whatever in an attempt to end the world as we know it because they’re cranky about losing at life. If I can’t win, I’m gonna flip the game board so nobody wins, right?” Opening a drawer he started to take out some tiny, disposable plastic vessels for the ink he was going to use. “Anyway, they fuck it up. Spoiler - the world doesn’t end. But I wind up with the chaos entity dialed into my brain or fused to me somehow - I don’t know the specifics. Long story short, I have what is essentially a Robert Chambers inspired nightmare god hooked up to my nervous system. And what do gods want?” Taking out a few bottles of ink, he began to pour portions of their content into the little vessels. “Worship. In this case, the more chaotic, insane, and spectacular the worship is, the better. Hence, professional wrestling.”
Preparing some paper towels, water, and vaseline, he let out a little laugh.
“If I don’t give it what it wants, my life gets weird; synesthesia, nightmares, hallucinations, that kind of stuff. It’s really unpleasant, and I don’t want to see how bad it can get. So that is why I started doing what I’m doing.”
He took out his tattoo machine, checking the settings before looking at Matt again.
“Although I have to say, since getting started here, I’ve enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. It...really gets into you; becomes a part of you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as alive as I do right now working at Carnage.”
Matt stared at Silvio evenly. His brow slowly arched up, and he let out a soft chuckle, raising his hands up. “Look, man, much as I appreciate creative writing, you could have just told me you didn’t want to get into it.” He shook his head, lowering one hand and pointing with the other. “Tell you what, though. You ever get into a pinch and want to throw the theatrics into overdrive, do that.”
He considered a moment, and smirked before adding, “Might make Mickey jealous though. Chaos gods and Clowns. Doesn’t seem like they’d get along. Oh, and, definitely. Wear a mask. In case the acting sucks, you can go back to being the slippery, charismatic kid with the cards.”
Knox’s body language relaxed as he peered around the room. “Alright. Where do you want your easel, Picasso? Or do we need to consult the Chaos Gods, first? Is it multiple or...one? Never really see Monotheism when it comes to cults. Always different hoods for different gods...”
Matthew considered him silently as he spoke. The kid didn’t flinch or falter once in that story. Maybe with a couple tabs, he’d believe it. Or was Silvio already a couple tabs in? After a moment, he shoved the thought away. Rather not imagine the tattoo artist was on a trip right now, not when he felt so confident in the kid’s skills.
He motioned for Matt to lay down on the chair.
“I think the shoulder blade will be the best placement for this. The curve of your back and shoulder there should frame the art well. I’ll do the transfer, have you double check the positioning, and if it’s all good, we’ll get started. You’ve had tattoos before - anything I should keep in mind while I’m working on you? I figure if this is something you’re using to clear your mind, you handle the discomfort pretty well.”
Matt laid face down on the chair, resting his forehead onto his forearms. He rolled his shoulders once, producing an audible pop before answering Silvio. “Put it where you think it looks good. I’m not too concerned.” He waited a beat before adding. “And you know damn well I’m fine with discomfort. Hell, we both are.”
Another beat, he shook his head before speaking. “No, nothing to keep in mind. This is the biggest piece I've gotten though so, get yourself a drink. We’re gonna be here a while,” he quipped, before closing his eyes and going silent for the rest of Silvio’s prep
“Alright, let’s get started.”
Silvio used the sheet and a damp paper towel to transfer the art onto Matt’s skin.
“You gotta use SPF 1000, man?” he asked with a little laugh. “You were not kidding about your tragic lack of melanin.” Loading the tattoo machine with ink, he said, “Okay, here we go.”
Then there was the buzz. No matter how often he heard it - either being the artist or the canvas - the sound of a tattoo machine put him into a flow state. Muscles relaxing and eyes focusing, he lowered the machine and began the line work.
“When I first started getting my tattoos done,” he murmured, “I thought I could manage the pain by being stronger than it was. Just be determined not to let myself feel it; clench up my muscles like I could decide what I was experiencing.” He snorted. “It didn’t really work; trying to hold it, deny it, or out-muscle it.” Sitting back for a moment to load up more ink and swipe some vaseline over his progress, he said, “Instead, what I found worked better was to just let it flow through me. Acknowledge it, let it have its moment, and move on. It puts you in a weirdly meditative state after a while.”
After a few beats of silence, Knox responded. “I just bottle it up and get through it. Lock it up with the ghosts, I guess.” He paused, letting out a slow exhale as he set about burying the pain. “It’s like getting in the zone for a fight. You become something else, something more. And then assess the damage after...your own, anyway. The second you start becoming concerned about how your opponent feels after a fight, you’ve lost the rest of them.”
He chuckled at himself. “God, every time I open my mouth around you, Levi, Kohaku...most anyone but Willis, and Thor, I feel dated. It’s odd, man. Last time I was doing this, I was in your position. Young, shiny and new. Now I'm what I am. And It feels like it happened over night. Like I...slept through a big part of my life.”
He twitched slightly as the needle breaks through his thought, and his grit. “You shouldn’t make a habit of it, getting involved because you don’t like what you see. It’s noble, and it builds Karma but stuff like this, in this business? People get dark, kid. It’s all visceral, ugly, and cruel after a certain point. And before you know it, you’re in a spot you never asked to be in”
Knox said he’d wanted to quiet his mind, and he still seemed distracted; some part of him elsewhere. Insidious and the way they were tangled up with the veteran’s life could definitely explain part of it, but Silvio wondered if there was something more to it. The Raven brought up the reading for his match; specifically the bit about the Lovers. He’d only seen snippets of Matt’s life in the form of research, matches, and whatever aired on Carnage, but this was a man who collected his ghosts. Maybe he needed an exorcism.
“Nobody expects to be where they end up,” Silvio replied, giving Matt a moment to get over the twinge before continuing. “I definitely didn’t. And I’m not going to say you’re wrong. You’ve probably forgotten more about this business than I’ll ever know. I’ve seen dark, cruel, ugly, and visceral; been on the receiving end of it all more times than I’d like to admit. But every time I have, it wasn’t the abuse from the people who inflicted it that hurt the most. It was the people who were supposed to have my back being quiet while it happened. Maybe stepping in like this will get me in trouble one day. Hell, it almost definitely will. But even if it does, I’d rather nurse my wounds alongside the people I spoke up for than leave them to face that cruelty alone.”
“You have to be careful, as with all things, Silvio.” Matthew’s voice took on an almost parental note as he spoke those words, but returned to the million mile away sleepy, velvet tone most had become accustomed to. “Some people, damaged people. Like me, and I’m guessing you...that wreckage is like a disease. It spreads. Blinds you.”
After a beat, he continued despite himself. “Back in ‘08, I met this woman. My first match with the FWF. Fantasy Wrestling Federation. Started out as a workplace crush. Then, it got bizarre. She’d attack me at any given opportunity. Then be in my locker room to simply talk. Made my blood hot and cold at the same time. Before I knew it, I was in love. And she was too, but it was...it wasn’t good.” He paused a beat, scrunching his face not from the needle but from the chill on the back of his neck.
“She started showing up at my home between shows. Uninvited. In my hotel rooms. She’d attack me if I didn’t notice her, and most of the times we kissed she’d try and rip my lip off biting me...but it just fanned that flame.” He snickered through the chill. “Says more about me than anything, I guess. It was fucked up, but it...it worked. And then…” He trailed off, the cold spreading to his eyeballs, his whole face feeling icy and detached. A droning sound filled his ears over the buzz of the needle
“Then it ended, she left the company and fell off the face of the earth,” he tacked on, exhaling as the chill left him and he relaxed once more.
Silvio continued his work silently as Matt told his story, feeling a chill prickle down his spine like a rivulet of icy water. “Jesus,” he breathed when Knox was done. He couldn’t help but think of Adrienne and Danny. Unbidden, his thoughts touched on Kohaku; leaning against his apartment’s floor to ceiling windows together and letting the night rise up around them. He shook his head to clear it, brow knit. “That sounds...harrowing, Matt. Jeez, no wonder that card…”
Exhaling at length, he switched the ink up to the mix he’d made for the Raven tattoo’s eye.
“The damage...well, it’s damage. Not gonna lecture anyone about what to do with it, but...all I know is that I don't want anyone to go through what I did; not alone.”
Filling in the circle of the Raven’s eye, he hummed thoughtfully.
“I like how this is turning out. You ever think of getting a collection of Raven tattoos? You’re obviously a Poe-style bird, but Raven has different meanings depending on where you are in the world. The Raven I grew up with...this one I’m doing right now...he’s not some harbinger of darkness. Actually, just the opposite.”
Looking the lines over, he began touching up a few of the edges.
“In the stories I listened to as a kid, Raven was a trickster who used his wits to free the sun from the Sky People and gave it to humanity so they could live in the light.”
“Doesn’t exactly lend itself to getting under an opponent’s skin,” Knox commented, pushing through the fog that always followed Charlotte. God, was that her perfume? “But I guess, if I was going to get deep with it, it’s nice knowing that I didn’t put myself in a box. Don’t always have to try and scare everyone.” He trailed off
“Just don’t tell Insidious. If they ask, the Raven you grew up learning about stole the sun and kicked its ass or something to that effect. Daft, shallow prick would probably believe it and go research some blood god that fed on Ravens and add it to his long list of nicknames. Thor, I mean.” Another beat. He let out a sigh, and began unburdening himself. The young man gave off a safe vibe. He didn’t want to trust it, but he did.
“It’s not that I didn’t feel anything for his daughter, you know? But it was a rebound. Or should have been. But I got comfortable in the part. I’m a good liar, much as I hate to be. Managed to lie to myself. Ivy was planned, but...I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, searching the inside of his eyelids for the right words. “I love that little girl, but there came a point where I knew that the damage - my damage - it was just going to ruin her. Her and Hope.”
He opened his eyes, expecting the tattoo gun to be driven into his skull at any moment. “I was probably wrong. Because now they’re in a youth wrestling league, set up by Thor. Brainwashed into thinking it’s right and normal. And I can’t change that, and I got no right to. I love them, and I want nothing more anymore than to be their father. But I’m very sure I fucked that up.” A brief pause. “It’s why I want to end Thor. I shouldn’t need to talk about this, it should have been a conversation between Astryd and I. But they made it public. And now i’m on a tattoo table, trying to convince my partner in a fight with his goons that I’m not a total piece of shit.”
He chuckled bemusedly. “Not doing a great job either. I wouldn’t buy my bullshit, cookie cutter as it sounds...”
“I dunno. I think there’s something pretty bad ass about telling someone they’re not allowed to keep other people from living in the light anymore,” Silvio said with a grin. “Seeing as Thor’s trying to bring out everyone’s, ‘dark side,’ a shot of sunlight might be just what the doctor ordered.”
As Matt described the situation with his family and Thor, Silvio felt a bitter jag in his heart and a twist in his stomach.
“...You’re trying. You’re putting the effort in. I can’t be angry with you for that. You want better for your kids. That’s more than what I got from my dad. If this is you trying? If this is you doing your best for them as their father? Why wouldn’t I want to help you with that? Like I said - I don’t want other people to go through what I went through. If I can help two kids have a better relationship with their dad, deal with some cultist bullies at the same time, and get paid for it? Shit, man - that sounds like Christmas in August to me.”
“We should all be so lucky to have your outlook, Silvio,” he said sincerely, before adding, “It’s all any parent can do, I think. Try and want better than they got. I mean, hell...my kids, me, we’re both rotten. I got adopted by someone that made money - real money - in this business. They got raised by a multinational corporate cult.” He chuckled lightly, trying not to move too much
“But money isn’t shit, really. Tired as that sounds. I just...I dunno. I just want them happy. Real happiness. Not a happiness they need to be sold...but enough about that. It'll just be another side effect of what we start at the pay-per-view..." he sighed, content.
"Thanks again, kid"
“Any time, Knox.”
He sat back, examined his work and gave a nod. “Alright, we’re done here.” A few quick swipes with a damp paper towel cleaned the area before Silvio held up a mirror for Matt to examine his new art. Raven on a pale shoulder, perched in profile, wings lifted slightly from his back as if about to take to the sky or swoop down to trouble the world for his amusement; a trickster in shades of black and grey with eyes the color of a storm-swept sea.
Dark wings, sharp wits, and bright tidings.
“Insidious isn’t going to know what hit them.”